


mostly gay newsies one shots

by lettersfromtherefuge



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Broadway, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-03-26 18:42:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 11,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13863681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettersfromtherefuge/pseuds/lettersfromtherefuge
Summary: lots of jack/crutchie, kid blink/mush, elmer/romeo, sarah/katherine, and davey/katherine





	1. promise

**Author's Note:**

> this is copied from the story 'Promise' on my wattpad. my wattpad is dearnewsiesofnewyork and so is my instagram if you wanna check them out!
> 
> this chapter is jackcrutchie
> 
> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER:  
> -major character death

Charlie Morris, or Crutchie, as most knew him as, was a normal Newsie in 1899. Well, normal except two things. One, he walked with a limp and a crutch due to polio when he was younger. Two, he made everyone make a promise, whether it be not to tell a secret or to tie his shoe in the morning, everyone must promise Crutchie. Crutchie was very good about this. He expected people to hold their promises, and Crutchie would gladly uphold his end. He never broke a promise. Race's crush on the King of Brooklyn? Nobody but Crutchie knew. Katherine's crush on Davey? Not a word to another soul. But, things change.

"Mornin' Crutch," Jack called to his best friend as the hazy sun rose over the city that never sleeps.

"Mornin' Jackie, how'd you sleep?" Crutchie grinned at his best friend, his New York accent slipping through. 

"Better, those siren's kept me up all night though," Jack said honestly. Through years of friendship he learned it was hard to lie to Crutchie.

"I heard youse tossin' 'n turnin'." Crutchie nodded.

"How...?" Jack asked, already smiling a little.

"You're the bunk above me, genius," Crutchie laughed, punching Jack lightly as they made their way to the circulation gate. Jack nodded, remembering, then broke into a laugh. A gorgeous laugh that made Crutchie's heart swell. As they approached the gate, Jack froze. 

"Jacky? What's wrong?" Crutchie asked, knitting his brows together. 

"The strike. It's today, and I totally forgot." Jack said, one hand running through his messy black hair.

"Hey, hey," Crutchie said soothingly, sensing Jack's anxiousness. "It'll be alright, you'se got me, remember?" Crutchie grinned, his green eyes crinkling. 

"I got youse," Jack nodded, and his arm looped around Crutchie as they took their time. 

"You'se got this, okay? You'se is gonna be great, 'cause I know you can be," Crutchie looked into Jack's eyes, and smiled. Jack easily returned the simple gesture, already feeling confident. The short-lived confidence quickly faded when Jack heard shouts at them from down the street. That could only mean one thing.

The true terrors of New York City, the Delancey brothers. 

The two infamous brothers lazily waltzed up to Crutchie and Jack. Morris glared at them as his older brother Oscar inspected his metal rings on one fist. 

"So's we'se just heard 'bout a little 'strike' happenin' here today," Morris began, smirking. 

"And since we'se loyal employees of Mr. Weisel, we know he ain't gonna like that." Oscar continued, pounding his fist into his palm a few times for effect. 

"We'se here to beat up the strike's leader and his right-hand man," Morris, quick as lightning, stepped forward and kicked Crutchie's wooden crutch from under him, sending Crutchie to the floor. Crutchie's shoulder hit the concrete hard, and both him and Jack were thankful it wasn't his head. 

"That ain't very nice," Jack muttered, leaning down to help Crutchie up. The crutch had been kicked down an alleyway, and Jack knew if he went to retrieve it they'd be in a dead end with the two most dangerous guys in the city. Crutchie would have to survive. Crutchie nodded his thanks to Jack as he leaned against the wall, rubbing his shoulder.

"Well, that makes sense. We ain't very nice." Oscar grinned and took a swing at Jack, who jumped back in the knick of time. Crutchie's eyes widened as Morris focused in on him, and turned to try to limp away, knowing he could only get so far without his crutch or Jack. As Crutchie made a pathetic escape attempt, Jack had got a good kick in on Oscar's stomach, which sent Oscar sprawled onto the sidewalk. Letting down his guard for a moment, he turned to see Crutchie pinned against the scratchy brick wall by Morris, his feet a few inches off the ground. A bruise was already forming on his jawline, and Jack cringed as Morris' fist made contact with Crutchie's temple. 

"Get away from him!" Jack yelled, his voice catching in his throat when he saw Crutchie's head limply loll to the side, and Morris poised for another hit, which would made contact with Crutchie's nose had Jack not intervened. He grabbed Morris' arm and pulled him back, grimacing as Crutchie's frail body collapsed onto the sidewalk. He was laying on his shoulder, his bad leg displayed laying on his other good leg. Jack watched as Crutchie's eyelids fluttered then closed, his small frame shaking. Jack suddenly let rage flow through his veins, feeling as if every inch of him was ablaze in a roaring fire. He punched Morris in the jaw and watched him fall, and kicked Oscar down once more. 

"We'se gonna be back," Morris swore as he helped his brother up. "And when we'se is you'se better watch your back!"

"And the back of that lousy crip too!" Oscar added as they disappeared around the corner. 

"Hey, hey," Jack mumbled, kneeling at Crutchie's side. "You'll be okay." He gently picked up Crutchie bridal style, Crutchie's head resting in the crook of Jack's neck. "I promise." 

Jack had walked six and a half miles to the best hospital, which happened to be in Brooklyn. One of Spot's boys, Leaf, stopped them at the bridge.

"Jack Kelly?" He had said, confused. Just as Spot was known as the King of Brooklyn, Jack was the King of Manhattan.

"I needa hospital. The Delancey got him real good." Jack said, desperation lacing his voice. Leaf nodded, letting them through, and he ran off, probably to alert Spot of Jack's presence. 

Finally, Jack had burst through the hospital doors. It had never gotten bad enough where a Newsie had to go to the hospital-well, it probably had, but none of the boys could pay for the hospital bill. Debt was something Jack was willing to go through, long as it meant Crutchie would be at his side again. A nurse had brought a wheelchair to the two boys, and Jack carefully placed Crutchie down, following the nurse down the hallway.

"You're going to have to wait outside until we are done inspecting him," The nurse told Jack, leading him outside the hospital room. 

"What's the patient's name?" He asked Jack, pulling a clipboard off the holder on the wall. 

"Cru- I mean Charlie Morris." Jack had memorized every Newsie's birth name in case something drastic would happen, but this is the first time he'd had to use it. The nurse nodded, scribbling his name down. 

"And how did his injuries come about?" 

"Two guys jumped us." Jack knew the saying- snitches get stitches- and the rule especially applied with the Delancey brothers.

"Alright, sit tight Mr..." The nurse looked up.

"Kelly, Jack Kelly."

"Okay, just wait out here Mr. Kelly." The nurse slid the clipboard into its holster once again and slipped into the room. Jack caught a glimpse of doctors surrounding a pale and limp blonde boy on the bed. Jack could hardly recognize his best friend, with blood dried on his face and his eye practically swollen shut. Jack hunched against the wall, biting his fingernails and pacing the halls, worried sick about Crutchie. Eventually, after two hours, the nurse walked out. 

"Mr. Kelly, you can come in now," The nurse's face was tinted with pity, and the doctors were silent as they filed out of the room. "We aren't sure he'll make it." The nurse said, following Jack into the small, dull room. He closed the door, leaving Jack alone with Crutchie. At first, Jack couldn't do anything but stand at the foot of the hospital bed, his hand absently on his chin, arm folded over his chest as tears welled in his dark eyes. He didn't have enough motivation to wipe them away. 

"Jacky?" Crutchie mumbled, eyes fluttering open. Jack perked up at his name and kneeled by Crutchie, taking his hand. 

"Hey, Crutch." Jack whispered, his voice cracking.

"They'se don't think im gonna make it," Crutchie said quietly, squeezing Jack's hand.

"You'se gonna make it, right?" Jack said, sniffling. 

"I hope." Crutchie nodded. 

"Don't leave me," Jack whispered. "Promise?" 

"Promise."

It was the only promise Crutchie ever broke.


	2. i'm still standing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Crutchie broke up after Jack left for Santa Fe. Unbeknownst to Crutchie, Jack is still not over him and comes back to New York to make things right. He meets Spot and Race at a cafe for open mic and is stunned by Crutchie's performance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> italics is singing!
> 
> this chapter is jackcrutchie
> 
> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER:  
> -mild swearing

**Spot Conlon:** hey, we're here

 **Jack Kelly:** omw

          Jack Kelly just arrived in New York City after six months in Santa Fe. He thought Santa Fe was what he wanted, needed even. But after moving caused a messy break up between Jack and his now ex, Crutchie, Jack realized what he needed was right in front of him. What he needed was Crutchie. He tried everything he could to make himself happy. He bought an art studio overlooking a beautiful field where he watched the sunset. He took horse riding lessons. He gardened. Everything he planned on doing, he did, but something still felt empty. So, after six months, he packed up and moved back to the city. Although, he did beg everyone to keep it a secret from Crutchie. Jack wanted his reaction to be truly a surprise. He figured if Crutchie was disgusted at first, it was a sign Jack needed to move on. If he was excited, Jack would allow himself to hope.

          Jack rolled his suitcase out of the airport, searching for Spot's red pickup truck. At the end of the drive in area, Jack spotted the car, and walked to it, throwing his suitcase in the back and climbing into the backseat.

"Hey, it's been a while." Jack smiled upon seeing his two friends, Spot t the wheel and Race beside him, holding hands. 

"Cowboy! We missed ya!" Race smiled, taking the cigar from his lips. 

"Still carrying around that stupid cigar?" Jack teased. Nobody knew why Race kept the cigar with him, he never lit it. 

"Aww, shuddup!" Race laughed, and Jack turned to Spot.

"Nice to see ya guys." Jack saod, meaning it. "How's, uh, how's Crutchie been?" 

"Pretty depressed when you two broke it off. Specs had to go over to his apartment to make sure he'd been eatin. He's been gettin better. I'se pretty sure he's performing at Jacobi's Cafe open mic today." Spot answered, pulling the truck out of the airport.

"Oh... maybe we should stop by?" Jack suggested, itching to see Crutchie again. His smile that brightened any day, his light green eyes, his freckles, his adorably shaggy blonde hair- just all of him. 

"You ain't over that boy." Race chuckled, shaking his head. "Especially for being the one to call it off."

"I thought that was what was best!" Jack defended himself.

"Obviously not, as you FaceTimed me at least five times talking about how much you missed your Charlie," Spot laughed, using Crutchie's real name. 

"Whatever," Jack rolled his eyes, leaning back in his seat. "What time is the open mic?" 

"Four," Race answered. "In..." he checked his phone. "Fifteen minutes." 

"Hurry!" Jack insisted, and Spot pressed the gas pedal.

They were there at four o'clock, on the dot. 

Jack slide to the back of the room, eyes trained tentatively on the small stage. A wooden stool and a guitar stand were on stage, among other instruments. But Jack knew Crutchie played guitar and knew the guitar onstage belonged to Crutchie from the sun painted around the soundhole, along with the small designs around the edges. jack had painted them himself.

"To start the show we have Charlie Morris!" Mr. Jacobi called from the stage, before walking off. A few moments passed before Crutchie hobbled onstage, taking his spot on the stool and leaning his crutch on the wall behind him. Jack's heart almost melted at seeing him. His tousled blonde hair reflected the light perfectly, his green eyes seeming even more vibrant and his freckles more noticeable. Crutchie was dressed simply in black high tops, dark jeans, a grey t-shirt, and dark green flannel perfectly contrasting his eyes. He looked amazing. 

"I know the guitar is here, but I came up with something different," Crutchie grinned from the stage. "Today is March third, the three year anniversary of my ex asking me out." Jack's eyes grew wide. How could he have forgotten? "So I figured I'd dedicate this to him." Crutchie finished, pulling the mic stand closer as the music began. 

 _"You could never know what it's like, your blood like winter freezes just like ice,"_ Crutchie's voice smoothly slid over the words, and he closed his eyes as he sang. He was peaceful. Jack remembered nights on the roof of their apartment building, he would play with Crutchie hair as Crutchie sang. jack loved his voice.

_"Don't you know I'm still standing better than I ever did, looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid."_

The impact of the lyrics were slowly hitting Jack.

Crutchie didn't need Jack like Jack needed Crutchie.

_"I'm still standing after all this time! Picking up the pieces of my life without you by my side,"_

Jack abruptly stood up from his seat, the legs of his chair screeching across the cool tile. Every head swiveled from the stage to look at Jack, hot tears brewing in his eyes.Jack just looked at Crutchie, who had stopped singing even though the music played on. His frantic green eyes met Jack's hurt brown ones, and just like that Jack had turned and ran out the door.

"Jack? Jack!" Crutchie called, reaching for his crutch and taking off after Jack, leaving the ending notes of the song to dwindle out.

"What the  _hell,_ __Jack?!" Crutchie yelled once he caught up to Jack in a nearby park. "You've been gone for _six months_ , and now you just,  _show up?!"_ Crutchie demanded, chest rising up and down with every shallow, panicked breath. 

"I thought you'd be  _happy_ to see me!" Jack answered, puffing out his chest to stand a full head taller than Crutchie. 

"You  _left_ me!" Crutchie answered, staring into Jack's eyes.

"I thought you'd come with me!" Jack threw his hands into the air.

"Jack, I couldn't just drop everything and run away to Santa Fe with you! I have a life, a career!"

"Charlie," Jack breathed, his voice hitching. Crutchie's facial features immediately softened at the use of his name.

"Jacky, I missed you." Crutchie whispered, tears forming. 

"I missed you, Char. So damn much." Jack matched Crutchie's voice, speaking in a low whisper. Jack stepped closer to Crutchie, his arm wrapping around his waist and gently pulling him closer. Allowing his crutch to clatter on the pavement of the park sidewalk, Crutchie's arms slide around Jack's neck and closed the gap between them, until they were kissing. 

Oh, how Jack had missed the feeling of Crutchie in his arms, of Crutchie's lips against his. 

"Please, don't leave me again," Crutchie mumbled, pulling away and leaning their foreheads together.

"Not in a million years." Jack responded truthfully.

 


	3. sheepshead races

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont even know when i wrote this, i was going through my one-shot google doc and found this sO enjoy
> 
> this chapter is sprace
> 
> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER  
> -minor mentions of child abuse  
> -kissesssss

Anthony Higgins had moved to New York from Ireland when he was young. He couldn’t exactly remember, so he must have been young, five years old at the oldest. Now the bright eyes and blonde haired boy was fourteen years old, and hating life. When he first got off the boat he had been separated from his little sister and father. A nice looking couple had taken the young boy to see the police about locating his family, but instead took him to their own house, where Anthony was now. The only thing he knew for sure was his name, age, and that he needed to escape his current life. Every morning he was woken with cold water splashed over his frail body, and all day he worked in a sweatshop to bring his ‘parents’ more money, which was scarcely used for his needs.   
One morning, as usual, Anthony is shaken from the peaceful escape of sleep when ice-cold water chills him to the bone.   
“I’m up, I’m up!” Anthony shrieked, shaking his head, trying to dry his blonde curls. His clothes were soaked, the thin fabric suddenly heavy against his bones.  
“You’se been lazy, boy.” The man said in a gruff voice.  
“I’ll get more money today.” Anthony promised, casting his eyes downwards.   
“We’se needin’ the money now.” He said, cigarette hanging from his lips. “She’s got a baby on the way now. That;s one more mouth to feed, and you knows we can’t afford that.”  
“I know all too well,” Anthony mumbled, recalling the many nights he’d gone to bed, hunched over in stomach pains from not eating.  
“What’d you say, kid? I’d be more grateful if I’se was you.” The greasy man warned, raising an eyebrow.   
“I’ve put up with this for long enough.” Anthony said, mumbling again. He was speaking more to himself than the man, convincing himself he deserved better.   
“Watch it, boy. We saved you. You’se woulda been dead if I hadn’t been there.” The cigarette was removed from his lips. In a swift movement nobody would expect from a man in his state, he grabbed Anthony’s arm and pressed the heated end onto the boy’s bicep. Anthony wriggled away in pain, surprised. Yes, he had been starved, but things had rarely gotten physical.   
“Saved me from what, my dad and baby sister?” Anthony scoffed, anger rushing through him. His conscious yelled at him to stop before it got worse, but Anthony’s temper had always been his downfall.  
“From an agonizing life in the slums of a city you ain’t ever been to!” The man outstretched his hand and slapped Anthony hard, the small, underfed boy stumbling back against the wall. “Get to cleanin’ I don’t like a dirty house.”   
Anthony reluctantly stood, cheek stinging. He wiped away his tears and held his hand in front of his face, taking in the scars. Things didn’t usually end up physical, but that didn’t mean it never did. Circular scars tinted red from the cigarette butts were scattered along both arms, one even on his collarbone. There was a small line at the base of his thumb where glass had cut the skin, and another glass cut on his forearm. That’s when it hit Anthony: he was leaving. Today.  
Grabbing a messenger bag, Anthony packed it with his flimsy blanket that he never sleeps with anymore in fear of getting it wet and it molding. On top the blanket he put four dollars he had hidden from the man, and with some thought, took the apple that would serve as his only meal for the day. And, he was off.  
“Hey! Where you think you’se goin?” The man chased Anthony out the door, but he younger boy was much too fast. He ran down a few blocks, until his surroundings were unfamiliar. Anthony only knew that he was in Brooklyn and that winter was coming. He was reminded of this last part as a chilly breeze tangled his hair and got beneath his dirty white undershirt and basic breeches. Anthony’s barefeet padded through the streets as the day passed, eating his apple sometime around noon. Before he knew it, the sun was setting over the emptying streets of Manhattan.  
“Hey, you’se lost?” A new voice said from behind Anthony.  
“What?” Anthony stuttered, turning to see a boy short than him leaning on a crutch. The boy looked dirty but well fed and well rested, with lively green eyes and a contagious smile.   
“You look lost. And hungry, cold, and tired.” Stepping forward, the boy offered his hand. “The name’s Crutchie. I sell papes with the Newsies. You could join us, you know. If you need some money and a place to stay.” Anthony took the boy’s hand with his, shaking as firm as he could in his state.  
“Uh, what’s a Newsie? And, before I join, I want to know more about it. I don’t want to accidentally join a cult or something…” Anthony laughed nervously, earning a chuckle from Crutchie.   
“A newsie sells papes! They’re fifty cents per hundred, and we sell them then usually regroup at the Lodg, where we stay. The cost of staying there is a thirty-five cents a week, which isn’t to bad. We’se a family, we is. We look out for each other. I’m sure Jack’ll love to have you.” Crutchie punched Anthony’s arm in a friendly manner, grin spreading across his face like butter.  
“Sure, then.” Anthony nodded. He had nothing to lose. “I’m Anthony, by the way.”  
“That’ll change,” Crutchie laughed, leading the way to the Lodge.  
Two days later, Anthony was perfectly situated among his new family. They, of course, had asked his backstory, looking for something they could use to nickname him. Anthony willingly told them, loving the idea. Getting nickname was like a right of passage. Even the youngest boy, Sparrow, was named for the bird because of the wa he ran. So far though, the best they had come up with was Irish, which wasn’t any good for a Newsie level nickname.  
Everyday the boys were woken at seven AM sharp, and they were out of the Lodge by eight, dressed and ready to seize the day. On arrival, Anthony was given a Newsie-issued outfit to replace his shirt and pants that were a tad big on him. Now he wore a comfortable undershirt under a green flannel, and a brown vest on top that. The layers really came in handy in the winter. Fitting brown breeches that stopped just below the knee covered his legs and he was given striped socks to wear with his new leather boots. And, of course, his very own Newsies cap. He gladly donned his Newsies apparel and sold his papes, but one day while on the job he got curious looking at the big bride. He didn’t know what it was called, exactly, but remembered Jack telling him not to go there. So, Anthony crossed the bridge and wandered the streets of what he’d soon learn to be Brooklyn.   
“Hey! You Manhattan newsies ain’t allowed over here!” A boy taller than Anthony stalked over to him, crossing his arms. “So unless you’se here for the Sheepshead races, you better beat it.”  
Anthony didn’t want to go home yet.  
“I’se here for the Sheepshead but seemed to have lost my way.” Race nodded, shoving the rest of his papes into his bag, the very same bag he ran away.   
“Down the street ‘n take a left. Ace’ll meet you there.” The older boy said, pointing down a darker street. Anthony nodded and headed down there, looking for whatever the Sheepshead could be. Halfway down the street, another boy fell in step with Anthony.  
“Lookin’ for the Sheepshead?” The redhead boy asked, reading over a discarded paper.  
“Yeah.” Anthony answered, sizing the boy up.  
“Follow me, it’s right up here. I’m Ace. And you is?”  
“Anthony.” Anthony answered, following the boy through a door that lead to a massive stadium.  
“Alright, Anthony. Ever bet before?” Ace grinned mischievously.  
“No, I ain’t.” Anthony answered, still following Ace to lean on the railing.   
“Here’s how it’ll work. Pick a horse you think’ll win.” Ace motioned to the line of horses lined up. Anthony scanned the horses, settling on a gray one with white spots.  
“That one,” Race pointed it out to Ace.  
“I’m choosing the one, all the way to the right.” Ace nodded towards a sleek black one. “Whichever loses gives the other a dollar.” Ace smirked and spit in his hand, holding it out for Anthony. Anthony rolled up his sleeves and spit in his palm, firmly shaking Ace’s hand.  
Anthony’s stomach churned as he watched the horses race. In the end, he had picked the right horse. His chosen horse came up first, and Anthony turned to Ace, palmed open, waiting for the dollar.   
“Beginner’s luck.” Ace excused Anthonys victory, four quarters dropped into Anthony’s hand. Anthony pocketed the money, then looked at the sun. It had dipped below the skyline.  
“Better go. See ya later,” Race nodded and turned, walking back through Brooklyn. As he crossed the bridge he made eye contact with a short yet intimidating boy. His black hair fell in waves on his forehead and dark eyes seemed to pierce Anthony’s.  
“What’s a Manhattan newsie doin’ on my turf?” The Brooklyn newsie asked, adjusting a suspender over a red shirt.   
“Just went to the Sheepshead, I may be new but I ain’t stupid. I know the Brooklyn boys ain't like Manhattan much.” Anthony answers, arms raised in surrender. The Brooklyn boy huffed, scanning Anthony up and down.  
“I ain’t remember seein’ you around.” Spot finally spoke.  
“Yeah, well can’t say I can recognize you either,” Anthony raised an eyebrow, leaning back on the railing of the bridge.  
“Spot Conlon. People tend to call me King of Brooklyn.” Spot shrugged, spitting in his hand and extending it.  
“Anthony Higgins. Showed up to Manhattan Newsies a few nights ago.” Anthony spit into his own hand, shaking Spot’s.   
“See you around, Tony.” Spot winked and turned on his heel, lazily waltzing back into Brooklyn.  
Anthony rolled his eyes before returning to the lodge.  
“What’s got you comin’ back so late?” Jack asked upon Anthony entering the Lodge.  
“Was up at Sheepshead in Brooklyn. Got a dollar against some kid called Ace,” Anthony was cut off.  
“You won against Ace?” Mush gasped, and Anthony nodded. “He’s the best better in New York!”  
“Not anymore,” Anthony asked. “Anyway, I was on my way back when some guy, Spot Conlon stopped me. I dunno, called himself King of Brooklyn.”  
“He ain’t beat you up?” Finch called from the back.  
“Do I look beaten up?” Anthony teased. “He just told me he’d see me ‘round.”   
“Spot Conlon? Does he know you’se from ‘Hatten?” Jack’s eyes were wide.  
“Yeah. He first asked me what a ‘hattan newsie was doin sellin on his turf, so i explained i was at sheepshead and he left me alone.” Anthony shrugged.  
“Yeah, okay Racetrack.” Finch rolled his eyes. “Spot hates us.”  
“Racetrack?” Anthony tilted his head at the name.   
“You’se gamblin just earned youse a newsie name.” Finch grinned. Jack nodded, as did the rest of the Newsies.  
The next morning Race woke up, and as usual, got ready for the day with the rest of the Newsies. But when the time came to go to their selling spots, Race grabbed his papes and headed down to Brooklyn, easily selling more than half his papes by the time he reached the Sheepshead. Gambling for a few hours, Race lost a dollar but gained five. He was practically rich. Waving goodbye to Ace and the rest of his Brooklyn friends, Race adjusted his Newsies cap and rolled up his shirt so his arms showed, dotted with scars and bruises. Everyone saw yet no one asked, to Race’s relief. Walking out of building, Race sold his last pape to an old gentleman and started trekking over to the bridge. Just as he lifted a foot to cross, something hit him from the side and pinned him to one of the columns holding up the bridge.   
“Hey!” Race yelled, a bruise on his back getting hit especially hard.  
“Shut up ‘n come with me.” A familiar voice said, but Race couldn’t pin where he had heard it.   
“Ain’t no way I comin’ with you,” Race said, the sun setting. The attacker’s face was hidden in shadows.   
“You’se is if ya wanna leave unharmed.”   
Race followed the shorter figure through the night up a building that looked abandoned. INstead of using the main doorway, the two climbed up a fire escape, up to the seventh floor.   
“Care tellin me who the hell you are now?” Race huffed, crossing his arms. They were in a small room, Race could tell that much. The window they had climbed through had been closed by the kid, and Race was growing more worried by the second.   
“Spot Conlon?” Race tilted his head in confusion when the King of Brooklyn lit a candle and set it on a crate which served as a table.  
“Anthony Higgins.” Spot raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms as well.  
“Alright, well now that we’ve established we know each other, I’m gonna be going.” Race ignored a funny feeling in his stomach and stepped towards the window. Spot stepped in front of him, his black hair seemingly glimmering in the moonlight.  
“Not so fast.” Spot said in a low whispered, hand on Race’s chest.   
“The boys’ll be expectin’ me.” Race stepped back, taking his cap off.  
Spot had never seen the Newsie without his cap on, and sucked in a breath as he saw the gold locks splayed over his forehead, and his bright blue eyes, which only appeared brighter in the sliver of silver lighting that was shining on him through the window. Spot hated how good looking the boy was.  
“You’se been sellin’ on my turf.” Spot accused.  
“We spoke ‘bout this yesterday,” Race said, taking another step to the window.  
“So we’ll speak ‘bout it again.” Spot may have been shorter than Race, but Race felt he was in no position to argue.  
“Okay. So what if I sold a few papes here?”   
“You’d cause a war between Brooklyn and ‘Hattan.” Spot answered instantly.  
“Well then, better not tell ‘Hattan.” Race shrugged. Spot pushed Race against a bare wall, the collar of Race’s shirt balled in Spot’s fist. Race immediately sucked in a breath, hands palm-down on the wall beside him.  
“I don’t need your sass,” Spot looked into Race’s eyes. “But maybe I’ll let it pass, for a cute guy like you.” Spot’s stomach twisted as he added the last part. Race’s blush was unmistakable.   
“I-uh-well-” Race stuttered, until Spot cut him off. Not with words, but a kiss.   
They were both surprised when Race kissed back. Race wrapped his arms around Spot’s waist, pulling him closer, as Spot entangled one hand in Race’s curls as his other was still on his shirt. Finally, Spot pulled back, fist still clenched around the plaid flannel fabric of Race’s shirt.   
“I’ll see you tomorrow then.” Race slipped from Spot’s grip and grabbed his cap from the floor and opened the window, shooting Spot a smirk before making his way back to Manhattan.  
After that encounter, the two met more often.


	4. lighten up- no one died!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack learns why Davey was so hesitant to join the strike.
> 
> ship: none

"Lighten up, no-one died!" Davey yelled, throwing his hands up into the air. Jack took a step back, eyes wide, looking offended. 

"Crutchie is in the Refuge! We don't get him out soon he's good as dead!" He argued, running a frantic hand through his messy black hair, spiking it up in every direction. Dark bags from sleepless nights rested under his eyes, paint staining his clothes and skin from the painting Jack had done to distract himself from Crutchie. 

"Yeah, well at least he isn't dead! There's still hope, Jack!" Davey yelled back, voice oddly emotional. David Jacobs rarely got emotional. He got defenses, offended, excited- but never emotional. In fact, none of the Newsies could say they've ever seen him cry, and in the Lodging house, everyone had cried, at least once. 

"What, you think we should have another rally, get some more boys taken to the Refuge? Wait till someone dies, then get the strike going again?" Jack asked, rolling his eyes.

"You don't get it, Jack." Davey answered quietly, rolling his eyes and turning on his heel. 

"Don't get what?!" Jack asked, his arms spreading to either side of him, shoulders hunched. "What do I not get?!" 

"To have someone you love die!" Davey's voice had returned to a yell, and his body twisted back to face Jack.

"Oh yeah, 'cause my mother and father don't qualify?" Davey's lips pursed at Jack's statement, face still clearly showing he was enraged. 

"No, they don't! You keep tellin' the boys you weren't close to 'em!"

"Doesn't mean it didn't hurt when they died! What do you know about losing someone? You got your perfect life, with your mother, and your father, and Les. You don't know a thing about it. I've seen plenty of Newsies die." Jack muttered the last part, turning to add a stoke to a painting, wiping at his nose. 

"It used to be my mother, my father, Les, and John." Davey said, voice clear and crisp despite Davey's wavering features.

"John? You never told us about a John." Jack scoffed, dipping his paintbrush into some green paint. Kinda looks like Crutchie's eyes, he thought before shaking himself out of it. 

"John was my older brother. He went to the trollies while Les 'n I came to the Newsies. He was one of the strikers. One of the strikers who died." Jack's face immediately fell, the hand holding the paint brush dropping to his side.

"Oh." 

"Get it now? Why I didn't wanna go on strike? Why I didn't want Les anywhere near the strike? Because what if I lost Les, too? What if, instead of my mother, my father, and Les, it was just my mother, my father, and me?" Tears were now brimming at the corners of Davey's eyes and his lip quivered. 

"Dave, I didn't know-" Jack started before Davey cut him off.

"Nobody knows, Jack. Nobody can know. I shouldn't a' said anything." Davey grumbled, pulling his cap over his tousled hair and turned on his heel, heading for the door.

"I won't tell nobody," Jack promised, watching him go, a sad look on Jack's face.


	5. dares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The newsies dare each other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ew i found this on my old wattpad so here you go

"So's I heard Crutchie ain't ever turn down a dare?" Specs grinned from the doorframe, looking at Jack, Crutchie, and Romeo sitting on the couch in the small living area.

"Specs, no," Jack said, standing up. Specs was known as the Newsies dare master, always giving out the worst- or best-depending on how you look at it, dares.

"Specs yes," mumbled Romeo, looking up. Crutchie just nodded.

"Ain't never turn one down," Crutchie grinned proudly. 

"Crutch, don't you-" Jack started.

"Since when was Jack the mom friend?" Specs teased, poking Jack's arm.

"I am not the mom friend!" Jack insisted. "That's Dave's job," He added, and everyone laughed when they heard Davey's protest, muffled by the walls. 

"Alrighty, Crutch." Specs crossed his arm and leaned against the wall, and Crutchie turned to him, smiling. "I dare you to go steal Race's cigar." 

Jack relaxed when he heard this. Race would never hurt Crutchie, and everyone stole Race's cigar just to tease him about it. 

Crutchie nodded and stood, saluting Specs as he hobbled up the stairs. The boys went quiet to try and hear what we happening. Luckily, Race's room, shared with Mush and sometimes Spot, was right above them. 

"Hey Crutch, what's up?" they heard Race's voice.

"Uh, nothin' much." The floor creaked. Crutchie must have sat on Race's bed.

"Whaddya need?" Floor creaked again. Race must have sat next to him.

"Can I have a smoke?" Specs smothered a laugh in his arm. No one's ever tried that attempt before. 

"You? Really?" Race's voice was amazed, and they all had to stifle laughter. 

"Thanks," Crutchie said, then shouting from Race and pounding on the floor boards. Crutchie must have taken it and ran. Crutchie jumped down the stairs on his good leg and limped into the room.

"I left my crutch upstairs. This was faster," He grinned and handed the cigar to Specs, who was doubled over laughing as a tousled Race ran into the room.

"Wh-what?" Race said. His cap must still be upstairs, and his blonde curls spilled into his face and his blue eyes were wide with wonder. The sleeves to his green plaid shirt were rolled up and he was just in socks, with his suspenders hanging by his sides.

"We got youse good, Racetrack!" Romeo grinned, and Specs finally stood straight, twirling the Corona in between his fingers. A smile was still spread on his face as he handed the cigar over to its owner. A smile was spread over Crutchie's face, obviously proud. 

"You coulda hurt yourself!" Jack scolded as he returned. He had left the room to fetch Crutchie's crutch, and even though he was scolding Crutchie, they all recognized the smile he tried so hard not to show.

"But I didn't," Crutchie laughed, taking the crutch and placing it under his arm. 

"Now I dare Crutchie to get Finch's slingshot!" Race called out, not loud enough so Finch would hear.

"You got it," Crutchie grinned, and left his crutch propped against the wall as he hopped on one leg into the other room.

"Hey Finch?" Crutchie said, and all the boys perked up, wondering what tactic he'd try this time. 

"Yeah, Crutchie?" Finch's voice answered.

"I think I'm a better shot than you." 

Silence.

"Yeah, keep dreamin'." Finch chuckled.

"Afraid of a little competition?" Crutchie challenged. A soft murmur of 'ooo's came from the boys.

"I ain't afraid of no competition," Finch answered.

"Alright, lemme shoot."

"Let you shoot?"

"Yeah." They boys could practically feel the triumph in Crutchie's voice. For a few seconds there weren't any words. Then Finch mumbled something, and the slingshot came flying through the doorway. Finch and Crutchie stormed after it, Crutchie holding onto Finch as he ran, slowing him down easily.

"Get offa me," Finch laughed, and Specs ran over to the slingshot. 

"Crutchie wins again!" He announced, and Crutchie let go of Finch, sending him to the floor, with Crutchie in tow. The results were a tangled mass of arms and legs, and Jack yelling.

"Get 'em offa each other! They'se gonna get hurt!" Once they had separated, Jack went to Crutchie to inspect his leg. It looked good. Then he went to Finch, to inspect the arm he had fallen on. 

"You'se lucky you ain't hurt." Jack shook his head, a chuckled echoing through the room. 

"One more dare!" Romeo yelled. "Get Jack's hat." Crutchie laughed and stood with the help of Finch, and Jack's eyes widened.

"No, ohhhh no," Jack laughed, taking off into another room. Finch picked up Crutchie bridal style and took off after Jack, only stopping when Jack looked back.

"Finch!" He cried, running to the two. "Don't drop 'im!" He took Crutchie out of Finch's arms and held him bridal style.

"He ain'y gonna drop me," Crutchie laughed, reaching up and putting his arm around Jack's neck. Doing this served two purposes: one, it took Jack off guard. Two, Crutchie could easily snatch the cap off Jack's messy black hair. Utilizing both these factors, Crutchie grabbed the cap and tossed it to Specs. 

"Oh, you'se dead," Jack laughed, pretending to drop him. Crutchie squealed and clawed at Jack, holding him in a death grip. Jack had to sit down for fear of dropping Crutchie, he was laughing so hard. 

"Got your cap, Jackie." Crutchie teased, not moving away from Jack.

"I know..." Jack pretended to hang his head in shame. This didn't last long, because Crutchie leaned his head against Jack's chest. This served only one purpose. 

"Love you, Jacky."

"Love you Crutch,"


	6. times like these

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack drinks paint water,,, per usual

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this in like fifteen minutes im s o r r y

Crutchie was grading papers at the kitchen table, his husband Jack in the next room over painting for an exhibit his works would be shown in. Crutchie had just marked a paper with a ‘D’ when an shocked gasp sounded from Jack’s painting room. Crutchie looked up, confused, as Jack stumbled into the kitchen, grabbing a cup from the cupboard and filling it with water, gulping it down, refilling it to swish it around his mouth and spit into the sink. His jet black hair was spiked in all directions from a night full of painting. An array of paints splattered his smock and jeans. Crutchie raised an eyebrow, grabbing his two forearm crutches and clipping them onto his arms, walking to stand next to Jack.  
“Drink the paint water again?” He asked, stifling a smile. Jack just nodded, hands gripping the counter edge.  
“Times like these I doubt your intelligence.” Crutchie stated, a grin tugging at his lips.  
“Aw, shuddup,” Jack laughed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.  
“How’d it taste?” Crutchie asked, using his good leg to hop onto the counter, sitting so he faced Jack.  
“Why don’t you find out?” Jack asked mischievously.  
“I am not drinking your paint wat-” Crutchie was saying when Jack cut him off with a kiss. Laughing, Crutchie pushed him off.  
“You taste like toxins!” He laughed, pushing Jack away as he made kissy faces towards him.  
“Hey! I use non-toxic paint, excuse you,” Jack rolled his eyes playfully, pouting as Crutchie pushed him away.  
“Alright, c’mere,” Crutchie laughed. “Who knows how long we have ‘till those toxins kick in and you die.” He teased, and Jack stepped forward, kissing his lips as his arms wrapped around Crutchie’s waist. Crutchie wrapped his arms around Jack’s neck, smiling into the kiss.  
“You still taste like toxins, though.” He laughed, pulling away for just a moment before continuing.  
“Impossible,” Jack scoffed, returning to the kiss soon after.


	7. hit me with your best shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack gets what he deserves during the 'Something to Believe In' scene.

Jack ran to his fire escape, breathing heavily. He had done it; he had actually told the boys to call off the strike. The cash in his pocket felt heavy, laced with the betrayal of his friends. No, his family. He angrily grabbed at the cold metal rungs of the ladder, swinging himself up onto the escape. The fire escaped rattled with each infuriated step, Jack angry at everything. Himself especially.  
“That was some speech you made.” A voice said from one of end of the fire escape, and Jack snapped his head up, squinting at Katherine. The girl looked pretty in the moonlight, he had to admit, the silver lighting catching her auburn curls just right. However, Jack was not in the mood for feelings.  
“When’d you get here?” He spat, rolling up his sleeves as he took deep and heavy breaths.  
“Well… Specs showed me,” Katherine answered hesitantly, looking up from the frayed paper she held in her hands.  
“What, he say you could go through my stuff?” Jack asked upon seeing the scrolls of paper, snatching them from Katherine and rolling them up quickly, although Katherine was too fast and held onto one.  
“I saw them rolled up, sticking out of there,” she motioned to a metal canister. “I didn’t know what they were!” she defended herself, then turned her attention to the scroll she had been able to keep. “These drawings… they’re of the Refuge, aren’t they? Is this really what it’s like in there?” She looked up, disgust painted on her face. “Three boys to a bed, rats everywhere, and vermin…”  
“What, a little different from where you were raised?” Jack scoffed, walking over and taking the drawing from her.  
“Snyder told my father that you were arrested stealing food and clothing. This is why, isn’t it? You stole to feed those boys!” Katherine said, obviously exasperated. Jack remained silent, rolling up the paper and shoving it back into the canister.  
“I don’t understand!” Katherine yelled, throwing her hands into the air. “If you were willing to go to jail for those boys, how can you turn your back on them now?!” She demanded, hands on her hips.  
“Oh, I do not think you are one to talk about turnin’ on folks.” Jack finally spoke, whirling around to face her.  
“I never turned on you or anyone else.” Katherine stated, eyes narrowing.  
“Oh no? You just… you just double crossed us to your father. Your father!” Jack exclaimed, walking past her to the other side of the fire escape.  
“My father has eyes on every corner of this city, he does not need me spying for him!” Katherine insisted, turning her body so she still faced Jack. “And I never lied.” Jack shot her a look. “I didn’t tell you everything…” She added, a bit more softly.  
“If you weren’t a girl you’d be tryin’ to talk with a fist in your mouth.” Jack warned, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth.  
“Look, I told you that I worked for The Sun, and I did. I told you that my professional name is Plumber, and it is. You never asked my real one!” Katherine yelled, breathing heavily now.  
“I wouldn’t think I had too, ‘les I was dealin’ with a backstabber!” Jack stepped forward, his eyes never leaving Katherine’s.  
“Oh, and if I was a boy, you’d be lookin’ at me through one swollen eye!” Katherine held up her fist, tossing a strand of hair over her shoulder.  
“Yeah, don’t let that stop you! Gimme your best shot!” Jack grabbed her fist, placing it just under his jaw. Katherine pulled her fist away, and Jack smiled, knowing he had won that argument. Katherine was a backstabber, no matter what her view on it was. He was about to turn away when a sudden burst of pain exploded from his eye and upper cheek. He stumbled back, his hand flying to cover his eye and cheek. When he removed his eye, the first thing he saw was Katherine standing triumphantly a few feet away, arms crossed in satisfaction. His arm was slung over the railing, his legs splayed at an awkward angle that he had happened to land in as he attempted to recover from Katherine’s punch.  
“Wh-what was that for?” Jack sputtered, removing his hand from his eye only to see his vision clouded with dark spots.  
“You told me to give you my best shot. So I did.” Katherine shrugged, smiling sweetly.  
“What the hell!” Jack yelled, making his way towards the ladder. “I’m goin’ to get some ice.” He muttered, leaving a pleased Katherine Plumber on his fire escape.


	8. i fall with manhattan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Race swears his loyalty to Manhattan, no matter the circumstances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *based off a comic from crystallizedtwilight on tumblr*
> 
> this chapter is sprace

Race fidgeted nervously outside the Brooklyn Lodging house. The door swung opening, showing Ace, a Brooklyn newsie.  
“Race? Spot’s upstairs.” Ace said, letting Race walk up the stairs to Spot’s room. Knocking on the door, Race slowly nudged it open.  
“Yeah Race?” Spot asked, knowing only his best friend- maybe more- would come in without a response.  
“Um, I gotta talk to you.” Race said, chewing his lip. Spot turned away from the window, looking at Race.  
“Oh my god, Race.” Spot gasped upon seeing him. His blonde hair was messed up, one eye swollen shut with multiple scratches across his face and bare arms. “Who did this to you?”  
“The bulls. At a rally for the strike. But listen, Spot. That’s not important.” Race brushed off his concern, looking at the floor when Spot took Race by the forearms, making him face him.  
“Yes it is-” Spot was saying but Race cut him off.  
“Spot, listen. I know Jack talked to you about the strike, and I know you said no, and I know whatever I say won’t change your answer, but we’se gonna lose this. WIthout you, we’se gonna lose.” Race took a shaky breath. “And… I’ve already decided that I’m goin’ down with Manhattan.”  
Spot began to open his mouth but Race shook his head, silencing him again.  
“They’se gonna drag me to the Refuge or I’se gonna get myself killed doin’ something’ stupid, whatever it may be. I ain’t here to ask for anythin’ Spot.” Race finally met Spot’s eyes. “I’se here to say goodbye.”  
“Don’t talk like that,” Spot scolded, ignoring the tears prickling at his eyes.  
“It’s true, Spot. You know it. We ain’t gotta chance.” Race shrugged. “And I’d rather it be me that goes to the Refuge than one a’ the younger boys.”  
“We’ll be there, Race. I ain’t letin’ anyone take you or those little kids to the Refuge.” Spot promised, finally making up his mind.  
True to his word, Spot and his gang showed up at the rally that night. Even truer to his word, once Spot caught sight of Race shoving the youngest newsie, barely seven, away from an officer so Race would get caught instead, Spot left his gang and appeared by Race’s side, ready to fight anyone he had to.


	9. in my power

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i tried making this dramatic but i failed oops
> 
> this chapter is sprace

Spot had sworn he’d do everything in his power to keep Race safe. He had sworn to Race that nobody would ever hurt him, so long as Spot was there. And Spot was there. And someone hurt Race. It had all happened so fast, Spot had barely processed it. It was all at the rally. Spot was fighting off some of the bulls that had attempted to go for the youngest Brooklyn newsie, and Spot wasn’t having it. He had just punched one in the nose when he realized he had to be looking out for Race too. Spot knew all too well how he got so excited about things, sometimes he went too far. Looking over the sea of fighting people, he caught sight of Race’s green flannel, just as Race stepped in front of Jojo. The police officer smacked Race in the face with the stick instead of Jojo, and Race stumbled back, pushing Jojo away. Race had reeled back to defend himself from the officer when a second came from behind, pulling at his biceps and forcing his hands behind his back, handcuffing them. Spot had yelled out, his voice sounding so distant from his mouth. He started sprinting across Newsies Square, praying he’d be fast enough to reach Race in time. You swore you’d do everything in your power to keep him safe. You swore, everything in your power. Everything in your power. He told himself, over and over again. When he finally reached Race, he was being dragged away. Just before he was thrown into a carriage to be carted away to the Refuge, they locked eyes. SO many emotions flooded Race’s bright blue eyes it seemed impossible. They say eyes are the windows to the soul, and Spot knew they were right. Resilience. Bravery. Love. Strength. Anger. But clouding over everything was fear. Spot knew it. Race knew it. The officers knew it. Race was scared, as he should be. The Refuge was a daunting place. Few left totally unscathed, and although physical wounds heal, emotional scars are left for much longer. Race’s eyes told Spot goodbye, and Spot swore at himself. He had said everything in his power.  
But sometimes, you just aren’t powerful enough.


	10. the refuge and race

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spot comforts Race after he gets out of the Refuge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes i am aware that this title sucks im working on a new one
> 
> beware theres discuss of abuse from the refuge
> 
> also thanks to whoever suggested this on my last one shot :)

Racetrack Higgins sprinted down the dark, abandoned street, looking over his shoulder to make sure that nobody saw him- or even worse, was after him. The tall and gloomy brick building that he had escaped from towered over the street, casting long shadows in the moonlight. Race was the only source of motion, except for the little slips of discarded newspaper that flittered in the soft breeze of early September. He turned the corner, towards the Manhattan Lodging House, before stopping. His breaths were shown in puffs of white mist from his mouth, and only then was Race aware of how heavily he was breathing. His chest heaved with each deep breath, and he stopped for a break and to think about his next move. He couldn’t go back. To go back would be equivalent to being dragged back into the firey pits of hell. Running a hand through his blonde hair, and looked around. The Manhattan Lodging House was just down the road. He’d be safe there. Crutchie would tend to his several cuts and bruises, and Jack would let him sleep on the rooftop for a few nights for peace.  
But something- someone- much more important was waiting for him in Brooklyn.  
And so, Race began the long trek to the Brooklyn Bridge, and once he got there, it was still a mile walk over the Bridge.  
After what seemed like an eternity, Race finally stood in front of the Brooklyn Lodging House. Knocking on the door, Race tried to blend into the shadows as footsteps echoed on the walls of the buildings of the empty street. A few seconds passed before the door opened, a young newsie rubbing his eyes groggily as if he just woke up. His eyes widened upon seeing Race; it was no secret that Race was close with Spot Conlon, feared King of Brooklyn.  
“Race!” the newsie exclaimed, earning the attention of every other newsie. Race nodded, forcing a smile before stepping into the warm room. Only then Race felt goosebumps prick up on his skin, and he rubbed his arms. He was only wearing his breeches and a thin t-shirt, his green flannel and vest being discarded somewhere in the Refuge. Race started up the stairs, legs shaky, and knocked on Spot’s door.  
“Ace, I told you. Don’t bother me until Race is back.” Spot grumbled, staring at a map of Brooklyn spread over his wall.  
“Hey, Sean.” Race said softly, closing the door behind him. Spot whirled around, eyes wide.  
“Tony?” He asked, as if he was seeing a ghost. Spot closed the space between them, his eyes wrapping around Race. Race gladly accepted the first well-meaning physical touch in days, weeks maybe. To be frank, he didn’t know how long he was in the Refuge. Spot led them to his bed, sitting down only for Race to cuddle against him again, finally letting himself cry. It was a well-known fact among Newsies that crying in the Refuge only made things worse. It made you seem weak, and the weak kids never left the Refuge. Ever. Spot ran his fingers through Race’s blonde curly hair and over his back, mumbling comforting words and phrases, swearing that they’d never hurt Race again, whoever ‘they’ were. As he let Race cry, his mind flashing back to seeing Race getting taken to the Refuge.  
It was a hot day. The newsies had gathered for the monthly Newsis Union in Medda’s theater. Jack was talking on the stage, Crutchie standing proudly beside him, jotting down notes as the Union’s secretary. Race sat beside Spot near the back, sitting closely beside each other. Jack had just answered someone’s question, Crutchie writing down the answer. Suddenly a whistle blew from the doors, a police officer standing there. Everyone was still for a moment, not sure why the officer was there. The first to move was Romeo, who must have recognized him as the officer who slapped him at the rally a few months earlier, because he stood and bolted for the door farthest away from the officer. Spot stood up, his arm reached out towards Race, somewhat blocking him. Race stood beside Spot, his eyes darting between the poised officer and the hundreds of kids from all around the city sitting in the theater. Another whistle blew and another door was yanked open to reveal another officer. A yell from Romeo alerted the Newsies that they were surrounded. Turning towards the stage, Spot saw Jack pulling Crutchie towards the back stagedoor, and jack made eye contact with Spot, telling him and Race to do the same. Nodding, Spot took Race’s wrist and started tugging him towards the stage as the other Newsies erupted into total chaos. They started running, and Spot jumped onto the stage, turning back to help Race up. Race had taken Spot’s hand when suddenly he jerked away, and yelled. Looking up, Spot saw an officer had grabbed Race around the Race and lifted him up, the lanky teen kicking and jabbing at the officer with his unlit cigar. His cap was knocked off, falling onto the floor and releasing a splay of golden curls across his forehead. The officer’s hands tightened around Race’s waist, and Race’s hands clawed at the officer’s, legs kicking. Spot jumped off the stage, rushing forward. Race’s frantic blue eyes looked up at Spot as the officer started backing away towards the theater’s exit. Spot chased after them, dodging punches and kicks from officers fighting newsies and newsies fighting officers. Spot burst from the theater doors just in time to see Race thrown to the ground. He scrambled up, only to be kicked in the gut and fall down again. A few more kicks and Race was hunched over on the ground, clutching his stomach. Light bruises already dotted his bare arms, and a final kick to the head rendered him unconscious. Spot gaped, unable to move as his boyfriend? Best friend? He didn’t know. They hadn’t gotten there yet. Race’s limp body was picked up and tossed almost carelessly into a carriage, and the only think Spot could do was turn and walk back into the chaos to save as many of his boys he could.  
“Sean?” Race’s voice jolted Spot out of the nightmare.  
“Yeah, Tony?” Spot said, looking down at Race, who laid in his lap.  
“What’re you thinkin’ about?” race whispered, reaching up so his hand cupped Spot’s jaw.  
“I should have helped you.” SPot whispered, looking down to Race. “I saw them take you.”  
“It wouldn’t have done us any good if you were taken too.” Race answered, sitting up.  
“I know, but…” Spot trailed off. “Anyways. It’s late. Stay here tonight?” Spot asked, as if Race wasn’t already planning on it.  
“Yeah,” Race nodded, and Spot pulled the covers up and got under them, Race curling up next to him.  
The calm sleep took over the couple, lasting only a few hours until Race jolted awake. The moon cast silver ribbons onto the bed, giving the two an eerie glow. Race sat straight up in the bed, chest heaving as he looked around the room, wide-eyes, trying to sort out where he was. Spot felt Race move and his eyelashes fluttered open, and saw Race sitting up. Reaching out, Spot put his hand on Race’s shoulder in an attempt to calm him. INstead of melting into the touch like Race would before the Refuge, Race flinches, pulling himself away and pulling himself into a ball. Spot pulled his hand away almost as quickly as as Race pulled himself away, his eyes wide. He hurt Race. He hurt Race.  
“Tony, it’s just me. It’s Sean.” Spot whispered, sitting up. Race’s shoulders were shaking softly, his head buried between his knees. He looked up hesitantly, his eyes darting around the world.  
“Sean?” Race’s shaking voice was barely a whisper.  
“Yeah, it’s me. Sean.” At Spot’s words, Race slowly let himself move closer to Spot, his hand grazing Spot’s. Shifting his hand so it turned upward, Spot took Race hand, letting Race move in for a tight hug.  
“It was bad, Sean. It was so bad.” Race whispered, tears rolling down his cheeks.  
“You can talk, Tony.” Spot cooed softly. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”  
“Ev-every mornin’. At six. Oscar would come in, an’ any boy that ain’t ready, they take ‘im away…” Race stifled a sob, and buried his face into Spot’s shirt. “The younger boys, they were never ready. Too little, too slow, too beat up. So’s… I would take their place, y’know? They’se were young. One was five. Oscar an’ Morris, they didn’t care. Long as they got to hit someone.” Race sniffled, his blue eyes dark and haunted.  
“Tony, baby?” Spot whispered, pulling away momentarily to look into Race’s eyes. Race rubbed his nose, meeting Spot’s eyes.  
“Yeah?” Race’s voice was so soft, so hurt.  
“It’s over now. I’m here. I’m gonna protect you, okay? And Jack and I, we’re working on shutting the Refuge down. He’s got his drawings. Katherine has his words. I got my boys.” Spot promised, his hand cupping Race’s face. Race nuzzled against Spot’s hand, nodding softly.  
“Come back to sleep,” Spot said, easing himself back so he was laying down. Race nestled into his arms, his head tucked into the crook of Spot’s neck. Race slowly drifted into the hazy mist that came before sleep while Spot rubbed his back, humming softly and combing through his hair with his other hand.


	11. something to believe in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Crutchie looking back through their relationship through the song "Something to Believe In" :)

‘Til the moment I found you  
Crutchie remembered his life before Jack; lonely, desperate.  
I thought I knew what love was.  
Crutchie thought he ‘loved’ his older brother. His abusive, neglectful, heartless older brother.  
Now I’m learning what is true  
Crutchie now knew: love was what he and Jack had.  
That love will do what it does.  
Crutchie wasn’t supposed to love Jack. He knew that. Jack knew that. They knew it was illegal, they knew the consequences.   
The world finds ways to break you  
Crutchie used to cry himself to sleep due to his brothers fists, but the cuts and bruises would fade. The words were permanently etched into his mind.  
Then one day, decides to bring you something to believe in  
Crutchie ran away from ‘home’. He was sleeping in alleyways, beat up from gangs and the Delancey brothers.  
Until Jack came.  
For even a night.  
Crutchie loved stargazing at night, on their ‘penthouse’ in the sky.  
One night may be forever  
They both knew their time was limited. Left and right, gay men and women were being found out and punished. It was only a matter of time…  
But that’s all right.  
However long they had together- they would cherish every moment.  
And if you’re gone tomorrow,  
If he was gone tomorrow. If he acted upon his dreams and moved to Santa Fe, if the Delanceys gave him a particularly bad beating, if somehow the bulls found out about their relationship- no one was safe.  
What was ours still will be  
Nothing- not even lifetime in hail or even death- could release the nights on the rooftop, relishing in each other’s presence.   
I have something to believe in   
Like Medda always said: “Love is love; cannot be killed or swept aside.”  
Now that I know you believed in me.  
Jack never carried or babied Crutchie. Crutchie appreciated that more than he could say. Instead of babying Crutchie, Jack would gently urge him onwards, stopping for a break whenever Crutchie requested one.

 

 

We was never meant to meet  
Jack almost passed the alleyway where Crutchie was hiding, seven years ago. He heard a dog whimper- turns out Crutchie had found a stray and the two had joined forces to survive. Wealthy people would give food and money to a young, orphaned boy with a dog. Jack had gone to investigate- and was quite surprised to find a thin, brown dog curled up on the lap of an equally thin, pale boy with the mangled leg.   
And then we meet, who knows why.  
Jack had stared skeptically at the scene for a few moments, watching the boy sleep as the dog perked up protectively, ears back and teeth exposed.   
One more stranger on the street  
Jack had seen the dog around, and im he really rummaged through his memories he could imagine the boy next to the dog. There were plenty of homeless kids in New York City, none were memorable. Dogs, however, were somewhat rare.   
Just someone sweet passing by.  
Once the boy’s eyes fluttered open in response to the dog’s growling, Jack wondered how he had never noticed those striking green eyes.  
An angel come to save me  
Even at the young age of ten, Jack knew he wasn’t going anywhere in his life. He’d die unnoticed, so what was stopping him from ending his life then?   
Who didn’t even know he gave me something to believe in  
Once Jack had formed his special bond with Crutchie, Jack realized: he may feel unnoticed, but someone will notice him. Someone did notice him.  
For even a day  
Crutchie gave him strength to live, day after day.  
One day may be forever  
Whatever may happen to them, they were connected by heart.  
But that’s okay, that’s okay.  
They would pull through it. Jack supposed they had to.  
And if I’m gone tomorrow  
Jack couldn’t forget his dream to move to Santa Fe. The seed had been planted in his mind as a baby, when he remembered his mother singing a lullaby about the wonderful new city out West. It was practically in his DNA.  
What was ours still will be  
By that, Jack meant the stars. The night sky. Their penthouse in the sky, where all the darkness and evil in the world just faded away, and they could be themselves. They could be in love.   
I have something to believe in  
Jack remembered looking into Crutchie mesmerizing green eyes, a pang of sadness running through him as he saw the pain in Crutchie’s eyes, but then he saw how Crutchie looked back at him: lovingly. After his mom died, nobody looked at him like that. Like he was perfect.  
Now that I know you believed in me.   
Jack loved the way Crutchie would cuddle up to Jack in the night, hugging himself under the blanket. The way he would link their pinkies as they walked through back roads to get back to the Lodging House. The way he laughed as Jack made stupid joke, the way he rolled his eyes t a stupid pun.  
Do you know what I believe in?  
Jack would hold Crutchie’s hands as the moonlight bathed them in silver lighting.  
Look into my eyes and see.  
Crutchie would rest his hands around Jack’s neck and kiss him softly and lovingly.  
And if I’m gone tomorrow.  
Crutchie dreaded the day Jack would leave him for greener pastures.   
What was ours still will be  
Their stars. Their sky. Their penthouse.  
I have something to believe in  
Jack surprised Crutchie with two tickets to Santa Fe for his birthday. They were set to leave the next day.  
Now that I know you believe in me.   
Crutchie giddily joined Jack in a booth in the train, waving the dirty city behind, heading to where they could live together, happily. Finally.


	12. out of reach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack was so used to helping others- but this time, Crutchie insists on helping him for once.

Jack Kelly was known for many things; for being brave, strong, charming, captivating, but most of all, selfless/ He would give up a meal for another newsies without hesitation, or stay up all night to nurse a sick boy back to health. And, of course, that wasn’t a problem- until it was. Jack was worrying too much. He wasn’t taking care of himself, and he was bound to break sooner or later,.   
It was late at night, and Jack had his legs dangling over the side of the rooftop he shared with his best friend as he thought. He was so deep into his mind that he didn’t know that Crutchie had made his way onto the rooftop until he was being spoken to.   
“Jack? You’se scarin’ me, come away from the edge.” Crutchie said softly, situating himself on one of the two mattresses that were shoved in the corner of the rooftop, covered by a large tarp like a roof.   
“I wasn’t gonna do anythin’,” Jack mumbled with a sigh, nevertheless swinging his legs over the side and making his way towards Crutchie.   
“Eat.” Crutchie commanded once he sat beside him, holding out a piece of bread for him.  
You have it,” Jack shook his head, taking Crutchie’s wrist and moving the bread towards him. “You’se gettin’ thinner, ‘n I didn’t even know that was possible.” He teased him lightly.  
“Jack, really. You’se barely eatin’ enough to survive.”   
“But I am surviving.” Jack countered, still refusing the bread.  
“You know that’s not what I meant.” Crutchie looked at Jack with a pointed glare.   
“Crutch, there’s gotta be another kid who needs it more than I do.” He said to Crutchie, who in turn rolled his eyes.  
“It’s getting ridiculous, Jack. You need to eat, yo sleep, to do something for yourself.” Crutchie turned to face Jack entirely, doing his best to help his friend.   
“I don’t need anything.” Jack said with a shrug of his shoulders, standing up.  
“You have to want something though, right? You won’t eat, you won’t sleep and fine, whatever. But it’s human nature to want things, and even you must want something.” Crutchie said, standing up to looked at Jack, although a good head shorter.  
“Other people have it worse, okay?” Jack asked, frustration in his voice increasing.  
“This isn’t about other people right now, okay? This is about you.” Crutchie’s voice level started to rise. “Please, just let me help you.”  
“Fine. Maybe there’s one thing I want. But it don’t matter, because no matter how much I want that thing, I will never get it, okay? No matter how much I wish for it, it will always be just out of reach, and you can’t do anything about it.” Jack's voice level had gone from yelling to a soft whisper mid-sentence, looking at Crutchie with his deep eyes.   
“Jack, if you save up long enough, you can go to Santa Fe. The boys’ ‘n I will all help-” Crutchie was cut off by Jack.  
“For God's sake, I don’t want Santa Fe!” Jack scoffed, rolling his eyes.  
“Then what do you want? Tell me so I can help!” Crutchie’s frustration was growing just as much as Jack’s.   
“You can’t help me, Charlie!”  
Dead silence.  
Jack never used Crutchie’s real name, and when he did, it was serious. The use of the name startled them both.  
“Jack, please…” Crutchie said softly, looking up at Jack with distress in his eyes.  
That’s where Jack acted on impulse. It was like he couldn’t control himself; he stepped forward, closing the gap between the two. Raising his hand, Jack cupped Crutchie’s cheek and ∫ent down, kissing him softly. Jack pulled away, obviously surprised by his own actions. Crutchie matched his expression, with wide eyes and mouth agape.   
“Jack-”  
“No. I’m sorry. Pretend-pretend I never did that. I was, I was- I dunno.” Jack turned on his heel, taking a few steps away from Crutchie. Crutchie didn’t respond, only moving forward to stand in front of Jack. They shared a short moment of eye contact, before Crutchie reached up and held Jack’s face tenderly, standing on his tiptoes to reach. As he kissed Jack for the second time that night, his crutch clattered to the rooftop floor, but neither of them could find it in themselves to care. Jack froze for barely a second before slipping his arms around Crutchie’s waist, supporting him and holding him closer. Crutchie’s hand moved from Jack’s cheeks to the back of his neck, one hand holding him close and the other finding themselves running through his dark hair. THey only pulled away when they needed air, both out of breath.  
“Charlie?” Jack whispered, Crutchie’s real name not a surprise to either of them this time.  
“Yeah?” Crutchie answered, the smallest of smiles playing on his features.  
“Was that real?”  
“I hope so.”


End file.
